Day... what day is it, anyway?

Oh. My trusty computer tells me that it's the 19th. Only twelve more days of NaNo counting today.

(Looks at outline for Dancer)

Okay, time to get moving again. I've had two 10K days in a row, and I think I need a couple more in order to get comfortable for the end of the month. It also looks as though Russ will be home for Thanksgiving this year, so we'll do a little fun stuff of our own.

I currntely have 47,963 on Dancer and a total of 150,048 words for NaNo. I think Dancer is about half way through, so it might come in at about 100k total. That would be fun. I've never written two 100k novels in one month. (Last year it was one 100k and two shorter pieces -- much easier, in some ways, because you can see the end.)

Now it's time for me to get back to work on things. I have some other stuff I need to take care of today, too... but I'm going to start out with a bit of writing.

And here is a snippet from the last few days of writing:

The best job was not to be mayor or council person in Woodvine, and live like a sheep among sheep. They didn't have painted doors. The best job was Governor of the camp, and Storm intended to have that job before too much longer. He had been working toward it for most of his life, and the more mistakes Spring made -- and she had made quite a few of late -- were only going to play in his favor.

Things would change once he was in charge. The dancers were going to pull their own weight in the camp, the hunters would get the respect they deserved, and he'd tell everyone what they could and couldn't do

He let his hand brush against the unnaturally silky surface of the door for a brief moment. When he became Governor, he'd paint the door blood red.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside the small outer office, nodding to the man who sat at the desk, whose job mostly consisted of jotting down notes and filing paperwork that kept track of their supplies. The clerk looked up from the desk, frowning.

"The Governor is in the conference room. Go straight in."

Storm almost stopped and stared in shock. He had never, in all the years Spring had been Governor, not been held in the outer office at least half an hour, even when she had sent for him. The idea that he was being sent straight into the conference room without any wait or announcement could not be good. He turned, hoping he hadn't stood there too long already, and started down the long hall. Blue light cubes, imported from the IWC, lit the hall in an unnatural glow. He passed three doors where he could hear people working, and came at last to the end of the hall and door open to the conference room.

Governor Spring sat at the head of the table, and five of her top people sat around her, leaving the end, where he stood, empty. He gave a nod to Spring but didn't acknowledge any of the others. None of them looked happy. There was not the usual scattering of papers around the table either, which meant whatever had happened must have been rather recent.

None of these people liked him, from the Governor through the lowest of her flunkies. It showed in the narrowing of their eyes, the disdain as they looked him over, as though he had just climbed up out of the slime to appear before them.

Without a doubt, the feeling was mutual.

Spring looked up and folded her hands on the table in front of her. "We have a new problem. Dancer has gone off with the IWC scientist."

He felt the anger build up again, and he couldn't keep it from his voice this time. He leaned forward, both hands on their precious desk and stared at her. She didn't flinch, though two of her people visibly backed away.

"I told you we should have killed him before now," Storm reminded her.

"We tried," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"And I told you Dancer is too good. You'll never kill him in the ring."

"No matter," he said, and lifted a hand as though to fling those words away. "We have a problem now."

"And what do you think should be done about it this time?" he said, finally standing back up. He knew, now, why they had called him in. They always did that when they had something they needed done that none of them could handle.

Spring looked around the table at her companions, but whatever they'd decided was already agreed to. The others said nothing.

"We have heard that Dancer will be going out with the scientist and that nosy guard, Devlin, to look at wild bears."

"By aircar?" he said and felt a little twitch in his shoulders.

"Yes," Spring said. She even, unexpectedly, smiled. "You're good with that kind of equipment. Make certain they don't come back."

"That's not very subtle," he said with a shake of his head.

She looked up and met his stare, her face going unexpectedly hard in that moment. "We're way past time for subtlety, Storm. He's already told them a great deal about bears, and we don't want the scientist to find out more, now do we? We don't want him reporting what he's learned, or finding a reason to bring the military into this."'

"They wouldn't. They haven't yet."

"Not yet. But they've never had any information on bear dancing before, except what they see in the ring. They don't know what we do here... except that Dancer is now telling them everything."

He nodded, considering the things Dancer knew -- enough, of course, to bring IWC censure down them.

"Try to get Dancer away from them before they go out," Spring said, looking up and meeting his stare. He started to curse at that, but she shook her head. "We want to know what he's aid and what reports might have already been filed, so we can make certain we have everything covered here, just in case. But if you can't him, we'll do our best anyway, and Dancer shares the fate of the scientist and his guard."

"Shares their fate," he said with a smirk. Such a fancy way of saying murder.

But there was a certain amount of joy at seeing Spring have to come to him for this. There was no one else in the camp who knew much about aircars, but he'd made sure he could work on the one they had for hunting.

She would owe him for this one.